Page 52 of Fear No Hell
Sam
“You’ve reached Michelle. Please leave a message, and I’ll call you back at the first opportunity.” Beep.
“Hey, mom, it’s me. Sam.” As if my own mother doesn’t know who I am.
I guess at this point I’m not entirely certain if she does, given that she’s still ghosting me.
I stare blindly into the bathroom mirror as I record yet another voicemail for her.
One she may or may not listen to—who knows.
“Tonight’s my residency graduation dinner.
I emailed you the invitation, and I’ve called you, like, a bunch of times but haven’t heard back from you.
So I guess you’re not making it then. Which kind of sucks, y’know?
I feel like you should be there. I’m taking Lila tonight.
I’m really excited for her to meet everyone, especially since she’s my-I told her I loved her.
Like a month ago now. And she, um, she loves me too.
She loves me back. And she makes me happy, the way you always wanted me to be.
” I trail off aimlessly. “I don’t know why I felt like talking to your voicemail would make it feel like I was talking to you.
Hope you’re okay, and I miss you. Call me back. Please.”
With a finger, I toggle the End Call button and brace my hands on either side of the bathroom sink. Michelle Eaton killed it as a single mother; she didn’t miss a single doctor’s appointment, graduation, opportunity to embarrass me, event of note, anything. She was always there.
Guess she’s making up for lost time.
I huff out an irritated sigh.
“Hey, love.” Lila’s silky voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts, bringing a smile to my face as I turn to face her.
And my heart and hormones promptly trip over themselves the second I see her in the semiformal dress I picked up for her.
I knew it was a dick move the minute I clicked the place order button, but there was something about the scarlet maxi dress with its black mesh overlay, V-neck, and thigh high slit that I knew would look amazing on Lila.
Goddamn, I was so fucking right.
“Jesus fuck, Lila, you-holy shit, you-fuck me,” I stammer, any smooth words I might have had lost the second I saw her.
“So I look okay?” She twirls in front of me, the long A-line skirt flaring out around her as she completes the circle.
“You’re perfect,” I rasp. Without a second thought about my mom, I stuff my phone into my pants pocket and hurry over to her. I need my hands on her. Right goddamn now.
Her giggle fills the room as I grip her around the waist and lift her into my arms. “Sam!”
“Fucking hell, sweetness, how could you expect me not to touch you when you look like that?” I let her slide down my body until she’s standing on her own two feet again, the entire length of her pressed against me. “You know we don’t have to go tonight—”
“Absolutely not. We’re not missing your big night.”
“I already graduated from med school. This is just a courtesy.” I can hear the whimper in my voice as my hips rock forward, grinding my growing erection against her belly.
Her eyes glimmer with desire and no small amount of amusement as she steps away.
“It most definitely is not ‘just a courtesy.’” Her fingers fly up in mocking scare quotes.
“This is a big deal. We’re going, no matter how much I want to drop to my knees in front of you now that I’ve seen you in this suit.
It would be so perfect to suck you off for the first time when you look this good. ”
The moan that sneaks past my lips is borderline animalistic; the smirk that curls her mouth in response is sadistic and so hot because of it.
“Now let’s go before you—” The emphatic 'you' is directed at where I’m tenting my pants. “Get us in any trouble.”
“Did you give the plant his daily nutrients and fluids?” We’ve taken to referring to Arthur as a plant whenever we’re out of the basement. It seems prudent to avoid calling him by name where anyone can hear us.
“Yep. All fed and watered.” She checks the knot on my tie, a burgundy and black damask one to complement her dress, the simple domesticity of the gesture almost dropping me to my knees. “Now stop stalling. We’re going.”
I follow her out the front door, locking it behind us before I shadow her down the sidewalk to the car. “Nuh-uh, sweetness, no way are you driving.”
“But I did so well last time!”
“You ran over the parking meter.”
“I told you I may have scratched the paint a little bit.” In spite of her joking, she does slide into the passenger seat when I open the door for her.
Once I’m settled into the driver’s seat, I fix her with a pointed stare.
“And you did, which I wasn’t upset about.
I didn’t even care about the dent.” I start the engine and pull out into traffic.
“It was the downed parking meter that gave us more trouble. That meter maid wasn’t at all amused that the meter was at a 45-degree angle. ”
“Fineeeee,” she drawls, a disgruntled scowl on her face. “I admit I may have—perhaps—gotten a bit punchy with the gas pedal.”
“Umhmm,” I agree as I turn onto the expressway.
Traffic is slow, thanks to both rush hour and ongoing construction.
With Lila teasing me, it doesn’t feel like it takes as long as it usually does to get to Streeterville.
When we do finally get to the parking garage across from the restaurant, she looks so otherworldly in the evening sun that it’s hard for me to focus on anything, much less the machine attempting to spit a parking ticket at me.
“Hold up, okay?” I say as she reaches for her door handle.
She glances over at me, one eyebrow raised.
“There are going to be a lot of people there. If you want or need to leave anytime before the end of the dinner, squeeze my hand twice. That way I can get us out quickly.” I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek when she nods, and then I’m out and around the car, pulling her door open before she can say anything.
A surprised look crosses her face when I extend a hand to help her out of the car.
“Such a gentleman,” she coos, dropping her hand into mine and letting me pull her out of the car and shut the door behind her.
“Anything for you, sweetness.” I drop a quick kiss to her upturned lips, doing my absolute fucking best not to turn it into something deep and obscene.
It would be the worst idea to tongue fuck her the way I want to especially when—yep—there’s the president of the hospital and his husband, Ethan, the head of nursing and one of Dillon’s close friends.
“Name twin!” Ethan calls, abandoning his husband to bound across the garage with the energy of a 20-year-old rather than the mostly dignified 40-something he is. “It’s so good to see you. We haven’t had coffee in ages, not since you got switched to the night shift.”
“Name twin?” Lila chuckles from behind me.
“Oh, goodness.” Ethan steps to the side, his arms outstretched to Lila. “I didn’t see you there, darling. You must be Sam’s date. Come on out, I can’t wait to meet you.”
“Ethan,” the president, a silver fox of a man named Michael, chortles. “You can’t just tell people what to do.”
Ethan—one of those people who has never known a stranger in his life—waves away the sentiment. “Nonsense. I just want to meet her.”
“Which you can do inside where it’s air-conditioned and we’re not surrounded by cars.”
“Don’t be silly.” Ethan steps towards Lila and slides his arm through hers.
A rumble of displeasure at anyone touching her but me starts in my chest. Lila catches it with a smothered smile and a gentle touch of her free hand to my forearm that manages to mostly soothe the possessiveness roiling in my stomach.
In a beautifully executed maneuver that I’m sure is meant to cover up me apparently growling at the hospital president’s husband, she asks again, “Name twin?”
“Oh! Right! It’s because my first name sounds like Sam’s last name.” With that illuminating explanation to her earlier question, Ethan drags her towards the elevator, still arm in arm with my Lila. She casts a pleading look over her shoulder at me.
Despite Ethan being married—and not at all interested in women, to my knowledge—an unholy snarl emerges from my mouth as he tugs my girl away from me. I’m about to bound after them when a gentle touch at my elbow stops me.
“Dr. Eaton,” Michael says. “Ethan may be eccentric, but he won’t let anything happen to your date.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him that it’s not just that.
It’s that Ethan is touching her at all. Which if I say out loud will make me sound like a psycho.
Instead of snapping at the man who’s at least six rungs up the hospital ladder from me, I grunt out something that might be agreement—or could be another growl, who knows at this point—and stalk after Lila and Ethan.
Fortunately, Ethan is smart enough to have waited for us at the elevator bay, which means I’m able to reclaim Lila.
The second my arms ease around her waist, I’m calm again, the murderous rage boiling inside me easing away.
I feel less like I’m about to burn the parking garage down around us. Which is good.
If I ignore the fact that I was prepared to string Ethan up like a pinata for daring to touch Lila, I’m doing great.
“Your girl is stunning!” Ethan announces as the elevator doors open. “I was just telling her I need to get the name of her artist.”
“You have tattoos?” I ask in surprise as we all step into the close confines of the lift.
“Yep, full sleeves! Well, a full sleeve on my right and a mostly completed one on my left.” Fondly, Ethan nudges his husband. “Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud here makes me cover them up at work.”
“I do not.” Michael rolls his eyes as the elevator doors open to let us out on the first floor. “In my defense, I said a Grim Reaper tattoo—even one done in neon—may scare patients when it’s on the head of nursing.”
“Same difference.”